


Letting It Go

by thelastcenturionismylove



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:16:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastcenturionismylove/pseuds/thelastcenturionismylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha are being haunted by their fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting It Go

Red everywhere, soaking her clothes, can't get it out, can't get it out. The waves of blood claim her as their queen. They crash against her body, it hits the sea floor. She wants to open her eyes, but she's afraid. Red. Lifeless body stained in it all. She is scared.

Running. Blue eyes. Following him. He has heart. It pounds in his skull. He can't run fast enough. Dirty fingers grab his shoulders and pin him down. Body hits the forest floor. Can't get up, can't get up. He wants to open his eyes, but he's afraid. Blue. Owned by it all. He is scared.

Natasha and Clint are nomads more than anything else. They don't work for SHIELD or the Avengers anymore. It's just them, fighting bad guys, as per usual, except with a lot less paper work and/or advised "team building" activities. There are no more press conferences or secret meetings, and Clint can finally relax now that he isn't choking half the time on the tight suits and the unnecessary questions that have shown absolutely no mercy on his windpipe. He slowly learns to breathe again. Natasha follows him, in baby steps. She spends more time with Clint now; it lets her loosen up. She trusts him and he trusts her and there is a perfect silence that they share together that is able to grow when it is not under the constant watch of teammates or their superiors.

She thinks. Monster. Don't love, cannot love. Liar. Don't trust yourself. Stop. Too comfortable. Spy. Don't trust them, no, don't trust him. No friends. Too alone. All alone.  
He thinks. Scared. Don't love, cannot love. Weak. Don't have confidence in yourself. Stop. Too out of place. Hunter. Don't hurt them, no, don't hurt her. One friend. Not alone, not all alone.

Their fighting has become more efficient. They blend their styles. The swift, hard punches. The arrows from far away. Power. Precision. Perfection. Their bones rattle. This shouldn't work, but it does. It's so effortless when they give in together. The tactics, the maneuvers, it's a tango. They should be tripping. They catch each other and continue anyway. When they think too hard about it, the dance becomes awkward. He is aware of his feet. He doesn't want to step on her. If she bleeds, red will stain her shoes. He lets go of all feelings. The coldness settles on her and it sickens her. She is reminded of her icy hands. She doesn't want to lay wrap her fingers around his neck. She doesn't want to him to think of blue.

He sees the look on her face. He buries his face in her shoulder and sighs.  
She rocks them back and forth and let's him step on her foot once or twice.

They are happy now.


End file.
